Choice Absolute
by The Last Smith
Summary: Stepping into the world of magic, Harry Potter is determined to leave his mark upon it. That is, until the majesty of magic, preexisting responsibilities, and the greatest wizards of the age block that path. Rising from from crushing lows to dizzying heights, Harry learns what being special is all about.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_Choice Absolute_

_By: The Last Smith_

Chapter 1:

**[September 27****th****, 1988]**

The sensation, he imagined, was not all that different than what it would feel like to be forced through his Aunt's gardening hose.

He heard the feet of his pursuers round the corner and approach the area he had stood seconds ago. "Where is that rag boy?" One of them exclaimed, Piers Polkiss most likely, by the sound of voice.

He held in his already strained breath, refusing to give the slightest hint as to his location despite the pain in his lungs. "He must have gone to the other side of the building, let's go!" That was definitely his cousin, Dudley Dursley. As he heard Dudley's gang run off, he took in deep breaths to calm his nerves and opened his eyes to scan the area.

He was lying upon cement tiles and could clearly see the edge of a roof a few feet away. He was on the roof of his school! He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm. He could deal with this, he would not freak out, and he would think this through.

He had once again been an unwilling participant of Dudley's games, games that always ended with him exhausted or bruised. He had been desperate, extremely so, cornered between the gymnasium and cafeteria buildings. That was when it happened. He had somehow been moved - quite uncomfortably - to the roof!

He wanted to deny it, to scream it, that he was not different or deranged, not a Freak.

But He couldn't.

Just last week, his history teacher's hair, a wing, had tuned blue when he had been praising his report on the early workings of the parliament near Dudley. Three months before that, an old sweater of Dudley's had shrunken to his own size when he was thinking of what his classmates would say when they saw him in it. Before even that, when his Aunt had butchered his hair, it had all grown back over night, less messy and sleeker than before, just as he had hoped.

His breathing leveled out as he realized that he could no longer deny his Aunt and Uncles words, he was different, he was a freak. The moment he accepted that fact he sprang to his feet, a mixture or hatred, disgust, and revolution flying through him and.

He moved over to peer off the roof, Dudley and his friends had apparently grown bored of him and were chasing a red haired boy through the woodchips of the playground. The hatred he felt rose, along with his disgust for his cousin. That was when he saw it, Dudley's grounded foot twisted harshly inward, causing him to fall, screaming.

He couldn't even begin to fight the grin that grew across his face.

No, he would not be known as a freak, he would be unique, he would discover what this thing that made him different was.

He was Harry Potter and he would become Special.

_But first, how to get off this roof?_

**[October 9****th****, 1988]**

A little over a week into October saw Harry attempting to pull his hair out. His work towards discovering, practicing, and mastering his odd skills had resulted in nothing. A part of him wanted to forget what had happened and go back to focusing on his school work and dealing with his relatives. He ruthlessly crushed that feeling.

_Freaks have odd things happen to them; Special people cause odd things to happen. And I will not be a freak._

Harry had accomplished a different goal though. He had finally cornered Vernon into giving his Dudley's spare bedroom.

It was his greatest accomplishment in life so far; finally escaping that small, dark cupboard.

One of the books he had taken from the library for his history report on the parliament had been about milestone laws passed by the governing body throughout the years. There had been an entire chapter devoted to the laws on children, within that, a section on child neglect.

Harry had bookmarked the section and wrote his name on it. He then left it on Vernon's favorite recliner before his uncle had finished dinner. The next day, after dinner, he was informed by Aunt Petunia that he was too large for the cupboard under the stairs and was to move into the spare bedroom upstairs. All the while Vernon observed him with an odd look in his eye, different than the usual annoyance or disgust.

That was eleven days ago. All he had done since then had been to attempt to change the color of an old overly large t-shirt in the isolation of his new bedroom.

He felt idiotic sitting on his bed, staring at the shirt on the floor, trying to force something to cause it to change color. Harry closed his eyes, let out a breath, and palmed his face. _I know something is missing but what, what did I do before that I am not doing now?_ Flopping back onto his bed gracelessly, he glared at the off-white ceiling of his room as if it hid the answers he sought.

The most recent odd events surrounding him raced through his head. Vanishing to the school roof, spraining Dudley's ankle - feelings of pride, vindication, and pleasure caused him to smile - and the discoloration of his teachers wig. _Something must have happened then, what was different then than now?_ A Sigh escaped him, his happy feelings and smile leaving with it.

Harry took in a sharp breath and began choking as the answer hit him with all the subtlety of a steam engine train. _Feelings! Emotions! Of course, it is so obvious!_ He hammered his chest with a fist as he jumped from the bed, as to stop his choking. _My desperation to escape must have vanished me to the roof and my anger must have hurt Dudley's ankle!_ _The wig, I was desperate for Mr. Wilson to not talk of my report near Dudley. The haircut - panic, fear, desperation, and desire - it's all so obvious! How did I miss it!_

Bare feet wore a pattern into grainy carpet as Harry began to pace. _Can it be that simple; all I have to do is feel something?_ His eyes looked onto the shirt once again as he recalled the memory of changing his teachers wig._ I felt panicked and desperate - that's the key - if it worked then it should work now!_ Harry's small muscles strained as he worked to bring out his emotions, as he had that time in the class room.

With eyes glued onto the shirt and his emotions soaring high, he waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

Letting out a strained breath, Harry regrouped himself and tried again.

And again, nothing happened.

He droped back onto his bed, leaning his back against the wall as he took in deep gulps of air. _Why am I so tired? Trying something as easy as this should not make me this tired. I feel… I feel exactly as I did after Mr. Wilson became distracted over his wig, emotionally tired and drained. _Harry laid back and attempted to settle his emotion, to calm his mind.

Seconds, or perhaps minutes, Harry didn't know, a knock echoed through his room.

His Aunt Petunia came in moments later, head tilted up imperiously, stringy blond hair in curlers, and neatly folded clothes in her hands. "The Moores will be arriving in an hour," she said, her voice shrill, haughty, and annoyed. "Dudley will be out of the loo soon, smarten yourself up and dress appropriately." She left the bundle of clothes next to him and left the room without so much as glancing at him.

A scowl stretched over Harry's lips, distorting his face. This was one of the things he hated the most about the Dursleys, ever since his hair lost its scruffiness he had been playing the grateful orphan who was so generously taken in by his caring relatives upon the death of his drunkard parents. Harry truly despised being used to represent the Dursleys false selflessness.

It was worth it though.

By putting on a good show for Vernon's business prospects, associates, and partners, he was given much more leeway of things he could do in the house. _Most importantly though, my chore list will be shortened, giving he more time to think on and attempt to use these odd skills._

With a sigh, Harry shed himself of Dudley's castoffs, the very same outfit that had caused him to be dubbed "rag boy" by his classmates he noted, and began to dress in the outfit his aunt had brought in. It was one of the two nice outfits that his Aunt kept on hand for him when guests were over; she refused to let him wear them under any other circumstances, another point of resentment for him.

Despite being given more appropriate meals since slipping Vernon the book, he noticed his legs were still much too boney as he slipped the pressed, black slacks on. The ensemble was topped off with a white oxford, dark green tie, and – in Harry's opinion – a sharp V-necked grey jumper. Pulling it all on, Harry straightened it out and left his room to set the tie and wash his face.

Halfway to the loo, the door opened and Dudley walked out. The collar of his blue oxford was sticking up, tied – incorrectly – in place by his tie, one sleeve was bunched up around an elbow, and his jumper appeared strained across his overly large stomach. Dudley's watery blue eyes screamed jealousy and anger when they landed on him.

An immense surge of satisfaction ran through him at the look and he could help but smirk as Dudley limped passed him, ankle still slightly pained from the nasty sprain it had received the previous week. Harry saw an embarrassed flush run up Dudley's neck as he called out "Mom, this stupid tie won't work."

_Stupid, fat idiot._

Stepping into the loo, Harry imminently used a damp wash cloth to wipe his face and hair down. Setting the cloth down, he then ran a comb through his black hair, carefully crofting it to the right so it neatly fell down over his right brow, perfectly covering the jagged scar that rested there.

Setting down the comb, he looked into the mirror to judge his reflection. His neatly styled black hair – which looked rather grown up in his not so humble opinion – clashed with his pale skin, a result of him spending so much in time doing chores indoors and generally avoiding the outdoors to distance himself from Dudley. His cheek and jaw bones stood out too much for a child of his age, something he again blamed on the Dursleys for their punishments of refusing him meals as a child. His eyes though, a pale green, mixed well with the tie and his pale skin and were his favorite feature.

Steeping back, Harry once again felt a rush of satisfaction along with vain pride as he observed himself. He like the fact he looked so different than his cousin and fellow classmates. Harry had, on several occasions, noted classmates - especially girls - glancing at him. _Most importantly though, it makes Dudley and his gang of idiots jealous._ Harry grinned, shook his head, and laughed, y_es, if how I look makes Dudley mad, I defiantly like it._

Still grinning, Harry reached up to set his tie properly, and it, the tie, with no outside help whatsoever, slid slightly to the left, tightened snugly around his neck, and adjusted itself perfectly under his jumper.

The comb fell from Harry's hand, his eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped.

_What the hell!_

Harry's eyes closed and his jaw clamped shut. _How! How! How!_

_I was feeling happy… satisfied and prideful. So how did that work to –_

"Seven Hells," the curse flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it; he glanced over his shoulder out of habit, looking for anyone who could have caught the slip.

_Of course - of course - of course, it's not just about emotions, it needs direction, and I have to tell it what to do!_

Quickly messing up his tie, Harry tried to emulate the feelings he had before_. It was pride, Happiness, and satisfaction._ Bringing up the emotions was easy, pride in his appearance, happiness and satisfaction in being more aesthetically pleasing than Dudley. Another small grin worked over his face and Harry brought his focused on the tie.

Nothing Happened.

_I know it's possible, I Saw It!_ Emotions soaring with hope, Harry could see the tie animate clearly in his mind, he knew and could see what he wanted to happen.

And it did.

The tie, once again, shifted right, tightened snugly around his neck, and adjusted itself perfectly under his jumper.

_Success._

"Potter! Get down here now! The Moores will be arriving any second and you need to set the table," Aunt Petunia commanded from the stairs.

Victory etched onto his face, Harry practically sang his reply, "I'll be right there, Aunt Petunia."

**[October 15****th****, 1988]**

The wide, arching windows of St. Gregory's Primary School library provided Harry with a clear, if distant view of the schools playground. His classmates ran, swung, and slid, enjoying lunchtime recess in their usual fashion, but Harry ignored them. His attention was entirely locked on his fat, excuse of a person, cousin.

Harry had heard Dudley grumbling about "Getting back at that ginger when I can run again," a few days ago. And, like said, Dudley and his friends were chasing after the boy from a few weeks before, convinced that the red haired boy had caused Dudley's ankle sprain somehow.

_You should go out there and stop them; no one else is going to help and he will be caught eventually._ Harry ignored the voice and feeling of guilt, _going out there now would only cause me to take his place, I can try and get Dudley from here, safely._ Harry cast the feeling of guilt and the part of him that yearned to run out there and help into the dark recesses of his mind, and brought his entire focus onto bring out his anger at and resentment of Dudley.

Since the tie incident, Harry had attempted many and succeeded few times to bring forth his abilities. He had managed to animate his tie the same night he had correctly learned to cause things to happen. In addition to that, he had made his belt, once it was half way around his waist, complete the rotation and secure itself in place. He had managed both of those feats multiple times, but his success ended there, leaving Harry annoyed and slightly bitter.

_But now, I'm trying something I've seen, that I've Done before. It is just like the time on the roof, I can do this. _Dudley was slowly catching up to the red head as he changed directions, running for the cafeteria, which gave him a closer view of Dudley. With hateful emotions flooding his mind, Harry focused on Dudley's uninjured ankle, hoping for the ligaments to twist, stretch, and strain.

Dudley and the red head were on the side walk, ten and twelve yards away from the cafeteria entrance when Dudley appeared to trip over an invisible rope, right onto the concrete of the walk way. Unfortunately for Dudley, it was a warmer than usual October day and he had chosen to wear shorts and a t-shirt, resulting in him flaying the skin off his knees and palms.

Even though it was not the desired action, Harry didn't feel a pint of disappointment as Dudley rolled onto his back and began to cry. A smirk worked over his lips, _take that you little whale._

Satisfied and with smirk firmly in place, Harry took a seat in his favorite black cushioned chair and pulled his copy of Oliver Twist out of his ratty backpack. He immensely enjoyed the story of the innocent, naïve youth. He also greatly appreciated of the lessons on bullies, trust, and wealth it provided him. Crossing his right leg over his left, Harry leaned back into the cushions with a content sigh, enjoying the safety, solitude, and story the library provided him.

**A/N: **

Thank you for reading the first chapter of Choice Absolute. This chapter is shorter than most will be and works solely as an exposition of Harry.

I have decided to write this story because of a discussion I had with a close friend of mine. We were talking about the differences in culture JKR's 'wizarding' world would have when compared to the 'muggle' world. A big point of that was how the lack of religion would affect the culture 'wizarding' world, such as what holidays would have been, an example being Yuletide in place of Christmas. We obviously recognized that the Weasleys celebrate Christmas, but what about more traditional pureblood families, whose head of house was not obsessive about 'muggle' devices.

We branched into an obscene number of topics, but mainly revolved around magic. A major part of which was what made a person better than another at magic. Was it something they were born with, like a magical core? Or was magic an educational practice where anyone could be great, and the more intelligent and driven they had the greater they could be?

These questions are the main inspiration for my writing of this story, and I will attempt to explore, develop, and answer these questions throughout it.


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